


Pushing John Watson

by JimIsKing



Category: Pushing Daisies, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Horribly written and half-assed smut, M/M, Pushing Daisies AU, some fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:52:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11279367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimIsKing/pseuds/JimIsKing
Summary: Pushing Daisies AU. When Sherlock touches a living person, they die. When he touches a dead person, they can come back to life.





	1. Partners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Puckabrinaluver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puckabrinaluver/gifts).



> I've never actually seen Pushing Daisies, just researched it a bit so I could write this for a friend. Sorry if I got anything wrong!

All Sherlock's life, he'd been different. He'd learned faster, questioned more, understood others less, and so on. But what made him the most different was what happened when he touched people. 

It hadn't been an immediate problem, really, since he'd kept to himself for the longest time. And then, when he'd finally made an actual friend, someone he trusted, someone he felt actually cared, he'd killed him. 

One touch, and Victor had crumpled to the floor. It had scared the hell out of him, and he'd dropped to his knees, touching Victor's cheek. 

He brought Victor back to life, who looked so looked scared and hurt. Sherlock vowed then and there, no matter if he understood it or not, he would never touch anyone again.

For years, Sherlock had no problem with it. It was easy, given that regular people were just extremely uninteresting to him. 

That is, until he met John Watson.

John was not an ordinary person. In fact, Sherlock thought that he might even be extraordinary. He knew that he shouldn't get attached to the man, but god, if he didn't want to. 

Whatever inclined him to offer John a position as his flatmate, it was definitely not, in any way, based in logic. 

They lived in organized chaos, but somehow, they managed to make it work. 

Sherlock took to wearing gloves more often, just in case something were to happen. 

Expect the unexpected, as the saying goes.

Well, the unexpected hit when Sherlock was least expecting it. It was also the place he'd least expect it: their home. 

John had just been standing there, looking innocent and clueless but somehow knowing as ever in that endearing way that was entirely John. 

Sherlock hadn't the faintest idea what the doctor had been talking about, but he had been paying attention. 

More or less. 

But the next thing he knew, even though he had no idea what it was that he had noticed, he knew there was some kind of danger imminent. 

He stood up quickly and absolutely tackled John to the floor just as a shot rang out and shards of glass went flying. 

"John, are you alright?"

Of course, John wasn't okay. And it wasn't the bullet that got him. "John. John?" He asked quickly, but it was obvious what had happened. 

"John. I'm so sorry." He whispered, caressing John's cheek gently. John gasped, and jolted up into a sitting position. 

"Christ." He looked at Sherlock, and then down at his chest. He ran a hand over his torso and frowned. 

"What the bloody hell just happened?" He asked, and he looked up to the window. There was definitely a bullet hole, so where was his? He had definitely felt something. 

Something that was not unlike when he'd been shot in the sweltering heat of Afghanistan. "Did you drug me?" He accused, and he eyed Sherlock up and down. 

"No, John." Sherlock said softly, and his face held more of an anguished look than John could ever recall seeing on the man before. 

The detective quickly hid the look by looking to check if the sniper was gone. 

It seemed that assassin had been satisfied with the death of John, no matter that it wasn't by bullet, or that it had been temporary.

John watched Sherlock and felt illogically guilty. Had he hurt Sherlock's feelings? He really hoped he wasn't the cause of such a look as the one Sherlock had been too slow to hide. He wanted to say that he couldn't have caused the look, because Sherlock wasn't like that. 

But he knew that Sherlock was more feeling than he would ever let on. "I was joking, of course. I'm just a little... Off." He said with a little frown. "So um... What happened, exactly?" He asked slowly, brows drawing together. 

"I killed you." Sherlock said, and he said it with a false calm that sort of terrified John more than anything else would have. 

"Sherlock." He said, because there really wasn't anything else he could possibly think to say. 

"I tried to save you, and I bloody killed you." Sherlock said, far too harsh for John's liking.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes. Explain to me what's going on right now, or I swear to God-" John's words got caught in is throat when Sherlock let himself into his space, their faces a mere two inches away from each other. 

"I killed you, because that's what happens when I touch people." He growled. John blinked, pulling back just a little. 

"You...What? Come on, Sherlock." He said, and he smiled a little, because really, this was ridiculous. It must be one of Sherlock's experiments, right? It had to be. Yet, John couldn't help but think about what he'd felt. 

He'd immediately thought back to Afghanistan, where he had been nearly certain that he was going to die. And while Sherlock was a good actor, John didn't think he was that good. At least, he liked to think that he understood Sherlock slightly better than that.

"So you're... Some kind of Angel of Death?" John asked, frowning. 

"Don't be ridiculous, John. There are no Angels." Sherlock chastised. John let out an exasperated huff. 

"Angels are ridiculous, but not killing people with a touch? Do you know how that sounds?" He asked. Sherlock sighed. 

"I know how it sounds. I've tried very hard to figure it out, John. But it just... Is." John nodded slowly, trying to comprehend it. 

"So you've never..." He had to stop himself from naming the things he was thinking. 

"No, John. I've never had sex, never kissed anyone, never done any of it." Sherlock answered, a bit dryly. 

"Oh." John said quietly. He thought for a moment before he spoke again. He had always thought Sherlock was either asexual, immensely private, or had had a bad experience, perhaps in Uni. "Isn't that... Lonely?" He asked softly.

Sherlock gave a little shrug. "It's all I've ever known." He said, trying his best to brush it off. He was, of course, very lonely. But he knew it didn't matter. It would never matter. 

"I'm sorry." John said softly, wanting nothing more than to comfort Sherlock, but he didn't know how. He couldn't touch him, so what could he do? He was a physical kind of person, and he always had been. But mostly it was because he wasn't the best with words. 

Perhaps, though, with Sherlock... He wouldn't ever need to have the right words, because Sherlock could so easily read him. He blinked himself out of his thoughts. "So do you ever plan to...Marry, or anything?" He asked delicately.

"How could I, John? I cannot kiss, or hold hands, or consecrate said marriage. Who would want a marriage without affection?" Sherlock stood up, making to grab his violin. 

"I shall live to solve crimes and hope to be remembered. That's all I can do." He said, and he began to play a melody he usually only let himself play when John was out. 

It was one he had written himself. It was how he felt about his situation, about John, about everything. 

John moved to sit in his armchair, listening to Sherlock play. God, it was beautiful, but so, so sad. He knew Sherlock felt more than he showed, but to hide so much pain? He was sure that wasn't something a normal person could do.

Sherlock stopped playing a bit abruptly, and walked briskly past John and into the kitchen to make tea. He made himself and John a cup before moving to sit in his own armchair, carefully handing John his. John looked at it for half a minute, then finally dragged his gaze up to Sherlock. 

"So wearing gloves works to keep you from killing people. Does that mean that it has to be skin-to-skin? Or is it some kind of proximity thing? Have you tried different fabrics? Different places? And you can obviously un-kill things. Does that work on say, plants? Or is it just people? What about if someone touches you?" He questioned, setting his tea aside. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"John." He said, and it carried that tone that only Sherlock used on him.

John brushed off the near-scolding from Sherlock as he stood up and moved to stand in front of the man. He hesitated, face a bit too close to Sherlock's for a moment before he reached toward Sherlock's hand. Sherlock immediately pulled away. "John. Don't." He said, and the tone actually made John inclined to listen. 

"How will you know," he asked lowly, "if you don't try? And you are ever so fond of experiments." He reminded. Sherlock locked eyes with John, and that finally convinced the blond that he should leave it be. 

No matter how curious he was, Sherlock's eyes had held something so raw that it nearly unnerved John. It was a vulnerability that he was sure no more than five people could ever have seen in Sherlock's lifetime. Then Sherlock blinked, and it was gone. His walls of defense were put up, right back into place like they'd never fallen.

"I don't want to experiment with anyone's life. Especially not yours." Sherlock said quietly. John nodded slowly. 

"I understand. I'm, uh... Sorry, mate." He straightened up and cleared his throat. 

"Don't be sorry. Now you know. Don't ever touch me. I'm sure that it works both ways, it has to. So don't be stupid." Sherlock said with a sigh. He gave off a loneliest-man-on-earth sort of air. 

It made John wonder just how much of what Sherlock had ever said about not wanting a relationship was true. He had just been hurting, hadn't he? All this time. Well, fuck. "So you've never tried having a relationship?" He asked slowly.

Sherlock looked at John for a moment. He could see what John was doing. He could also see that John probably wasn't even aware of it himself. "I'm not interested, John. It's not something I am willing to put someone through." He fixed a firm gaze on John. 

"But what if they don't care what you think you want?" John asked, brows drawn together and lips tugging down at the corners. 

"John. I am not going to let you sacrifice yourself because you think you owe me something that I never got to experience. I assure you that if you haven't had something before, you can't miss it." Sherlock said firmly.

"Me." John said quietly, blinking. "Oh." He nodded slowly. "No, Sherlock. Don't be an idiot. We're pretty much dating anyway, aren't we? Arguing, living together, understanding each other when no one else seems to..." He pointed out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Name one of your girlfriends that you didn't have sex with." He asked, eyes narrowed. John frowned deeply. 

"Is that what you think of me, then? That I only date for the sex?" He asked testily, shifting on his feet. Sherlock stood up and moved into John's space. 

"The idea of us having a relationship together is utterly fanciful and you know it. So please stop entertaining such unrealistic thoughts, it's unbecoming of you." He said matter-of-factly, at which John deflated and took a step back. 

"So that's it, then? We just... get over it?" He asked softly. Sherlock shrugged, deflating as well. 

"That, or you leave. That's what usually happens. So I won't blame you."

John shook his head. "No, Sherlock. I'm not going to just leave. Of course not. We're mates, remember? No matter how much of a pain in the arse you are." Sherlock managed a small smile, but it also looked a little too sad. 

"I know." He said. John ran a hand over his face. 

"You can't say that you don't want to be together and then look sad when I say we're friends." He said in exasperation. "Would you please just tell me what you want?" He asked, trying not to sound desperate. 

"It doesn't matter, John. Can you really picture a life with someone you cannot touch?" Sherlock bit out. John took a little step forward and carefully took a hold of Sherlock's forearms, the smooth sleeve of his shirt serving as an effective barrier. 

"I could, yeah. If it were with you." He said gently. Sherlock swallowed hard and met John's eye. 

"I cannot take away your future." He said evenly, though his eyes betrayed his pain.

John sighed. "Sherlock Holmes. You are the most dramatic man I have ever met." He said with a roll of his eyes.

Sherlock looked extremely offended, which only further proved his point, in John's opinion. 

"I want a future with you, and someone would have to have to kill me to make me ever let you go again. Do you understand?" John said firmly. 

"I understand, John, but think of the logistics." Sherlock pointed out. John looked at Sherlock for a moment, trying to think of a way to prove to him that he was being a complete and utter idiot. He was also trying to think of the logistics. 

There had to be a way to fix some problems. Gloves, for one. That seemed to work just fine, so couldn't they work out more solutions? 

Then, John's face lit up, which Sherlock knew meant John had an idea. He looked at Sherlock a moment longer before scurrying off to the kitchen.

Sherlock watched him, brows furrowed. What on Earth could the doctor be up to? He watched John open a few drawers, looking for whatever it was. He must have moved it after doing one of his experiments, but that didn't narrow down much. 

He used a lot of things for his experiments (which he knew John hated). He rose an eyebrow when John returned with a roll of plastic wrap. "Are you about to murder me?" Sherlock asked casually, tilting his head to look at John. 

"No, you bloody idiot. Come here." John said, nodding his head once to Sherlock. He carefully ripped off a semi-straight piece of saran wrap and looked at Sherlock. 

"Alright. Don't move, yeah?" He advised, trying to look confident, thought Sherlock could tell he was a tad nervous. Sherlock could always tell what John was feeling, and mostly what he was thinking. But this was different. He wasn't at all sure what John was about to do.

John took a breath to calm himself before meeting Sherlock's eyes. He felt slightly foolish, but he wanted to see if it would work. 

You would never know if you didn't take a chance, right? In science, you must fail to disprove a theory, and Sherlock was a scientist. He'd understand. At least, that's what John told himself. 

He then held up the plastic wrap to Sherlock and kissed Sherlock through it. It was an odd sensation to say the least, but he could feel Sherlock's warmth through the thin layer, and better yet, he wasn't dead. 

Sherlock froze before pulling away, wide-eyed. "You kissed me." He said, looking as close to dumbfounded as John had ever see him. John looked at the cellophane in his hand and then to Sherlock. 

"That bad, am I?" He asked, trying to mask his hurt with humor. 

"No, no, I've just never..." Sherlock couldn't find the words he was looking for. Couldn't quite explain what he was feeling.

John looked at Sherlock for a moment before nodding slowly. "You've never been kissed." He stated. 

"No, I hadn't been." Sherlock replied slowly, as if working it out in his head. He carefully took the cellophane from John in order to kiss him again, this time, while it was awkward and sloppy, he actually contributed to the kiss. John nearly laughed at Sherlock's antics, but he refrained so that he might kiss Sherlock like he deserved. 

Sherlock broke the kiss and let his hands fall to his sides, the plastic still gripped between his fingers. "Good?" He asked softly after a beat. John laughed softly. "Very good." He assured. 

"So are we...?" Sherlock didn't know what sort of label to put on them. Perhaps there wasn't an appropriate one. 

"Partners." John suggested.  
In crime solving, and in life.  
"Yeah?" He asked after a beat. 

Sherlock smiled, a genuine, relaxed smile. 

John was sure he had never seen anything quite as beautiful.

"Partners."


	2. Promise

It was after a month of awkward plastic wrapped-kisses that things finally became more heated. 

It happened after a case when adrenaline levels were high and the exhilaration of the chase hadn't quite worn off yet. 

The night sky was a rich darkness and the alleyway Sherlock insisted on taking (because it was a 'short cut') was very dimly lit by a half functioning street lamp. 

"Are you sure this isn't just you looking for another crime to solve?" John asked, quirking a brow at Sherlock. He was too full of excited energy for the words to have come out as scolding as they were intended to be. 

"Of course not, John. Unless you are looking to commit a crime?" Sherlock replied, and he somehow managed to make it sound like a dare or even an offer.

John's brows furrowed slightly. "What do you mean by that?" He asked, looking sidelong at the detective. Sherlock pushed John carefully against the wall. 

"Don't think I didn't notice how excited you are." He purred close to John's ear, a gloved hand coming up to cup John through his trousers. 

Sherlock smirked when he felt the slight firmness there. It was always good to know he was right. John's breath hitched and he tried very hard not to move. 

"Sherlock." He meant to protest, but the way he said it was coloured with nothing but want. Sherlock smirked as he rubbed John slowly through his clothes. 

"Yes, John?" He asked, not even trying to hide how smug he was. The bastard. 

"Be... be careful, yeah?" John said, trying to even out his breathing. Sherlock pressed himself against John, taking his wrists and pinning them against the brick. 

"Is this why you- ah, wear bloody gloves all the time?" He asked, struggling ever so slightly against Sherlock's hold. 

"Perhaps." Sherlock replied, rolling his hips against John's. The angle was a bit off and it was slightly awkward, but it served its purpose well enough. 

John realised that Sherlock probably hadn't had much experience with this sort of thing, if any. He rocked back against Sherlock, trying to resist the urge to kiss him. 

Even though they'd been dating a while, he still wasn't quite used to being unable to touch Sherlock whenever he wanted to. "We're going to get caught." He breathed, ignoring how that sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. Sherlock shook his head and gave a more insistent movement of his hips. 

"No one comes through here, darling." And the way he said it made John think that Sherlock had actually noticed something or other that served as evidence to support that, but he couldn't be arsed to care quite then. 

John knew it was going to be quick and dirty, but he wasn't actually ready for how much it reminded him of his teenage years. He thought back to those desperate rub offs in risky places, where neither party was quite brave enough to do anything without clothes on. This definitely felt a lot like that.

Sherlock squeezed John's wrists. "Alright?" He asked, rutting against John a little harder. 

"Alright." John confirmed, ashamed to admit that he was quickly nearing his climax, what he considered embarrassingly easily. With all the adrenaline of the night and his lack of an outlet for his frustrations over the past few weeks, he had pretty much lost the mental battle for control of his body. 

Sherlock had no shame, seeing as he'd never moved past this stage before. John had thought he'd grown out of acting upon such a primal instinct as rutting, but this made him rethink that. It was good. Really good. 

Perhaps the fact that this was ridiculous to do at his age factored into his reasons for liking it so much. 

Sherlock's grip on his wrists suddenly became vise-like and the detective shuddered against him with a gasped out distortion of his name. 

John came only a moment after Sherlock, gripping the detective'sshoulder tightly.

When they broke apart, John was still flushed a deep red and he began to feel uncomfortable in his soiled pants. 

Sherlock gave a little chuckle of pure feeling before he composed himself. "We should hurry home, yes? Best to clean ourselves up as soon as possible." He said it like it was the most logical thing in the world. 

Like nothing else called for his attention at that moment in time. John looked at Sherlock for a pause before nodding. 

"I suppose so, yes." He said, licking his lips. He felt that they should talk about it, but if Sherlock did not want to, then he would respect Sherlock's wishes. John should have known, really. 

They managed to catch a cab after a bit of walking and soon they were finally home. After a wipe down and a change, John found his way to the kitchen to make tea. He then sat down to think over what had happened.

Sherlock wandered into the sitting room a tad later looking as well put together as ever, and he looked over John. "You're upset." He noted, moving to sit down in the armchair across from John's. 

"I'm not upset." John said, taking a slow sip of his tea. 

"You wish to talk about it, then." Sherlock said after surveying John thoroughly. 

"I think it would be a good idea, yes. But obviously it isn't necessary." John replied. 

"John." Sherlock said with a frown. "I do not think that it needs to be discussed because I do not think it changes anything. Unless you've changed your mind about dating?" He asked, brows furrowing a little.

"No, I'm not- Just hang on a second. I mean... What do you want? Do you have any more ideas that I don't know about?" John asked, fiddling with his mug.

"I do, yes. I am uncertain on how well they would play out, but I do have some more ideas. I merely want to be able to satisfy you as a good partner ought." Sherlock explained. John nodded and took a long sip of his tea. He didn't know just what to say. After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke.

"I'd like that. If you're sure." He said, looking down into his tea as if it may hold some kind of answers.

"Of course I'm sure, John. Don't be ridiculous. I want to be intimate with you. In every way I can. It will just have to be a little bit unorthodox." Sherlock returned. John wasn't quite sure what that entailed, but it excited him.

"Promise?" He asked, looking to meet Sherlock's eyes. It held a lot more than just a simple question. It was a lot of questions piled into one anxiously hope-filled word.

 

Promise there will be a next time?  
Promise you still want this?  
Promise you'll talk to me if you feel something is wrong? 

Sherlock gazed back into John's eyes, a near-smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth. "I promise."


	3. Please

It was a long bloody time before they did anything again. It had been a hell of a time for crime solving, and Greg had kept bringing them one case after another. 

It was exciting, yes, far more so than when there was a lull between every case. But it was also exhausting. 

John slept for thirteen hours once the cases finally stopped, which was quite a significant amount more than his usual five or six- seven or eight if he was lucky. 

When he woke he was even more exhausted than before. He drank three cups of coffee before it finally began to kick in. 

Sherlock didn't emerge from his room for quite some time, though John was fairly sure he hadn't slept the entire time. He noted that Sherlock was, however, already completely dressed, even down to his gloves. 

Sherlock quickly began to make himself tea, seeing as he knew John wouldn't make it for him unless he was making himself some, which he wouldn't be doing very soon. "Got any plans for today?" John asked, watching Sherlock carefully.

"I have a few ideas, yes." Sherlock replied casual as could be. "Why?" He looked to John. "Did you have something in mind?"

"No, no. I was just... Wondering if you were going to do something. With me." John said after a sip of his coffee. Sherlock smiled.

"It is very rare that I do somehing without you being present, John." He pointed out, taking a sip of tea and moving to settle down on the sofa. John gave a little shrug.

"What did you have in mind, then?" He asked the detective, setting his coffee aside.

"Come here, John." Sherlock said, nodding to the other end of the couch. John looked at Sherlock for a moment before obligingly moving to sit on the other end of the couch. 

"Now what?" John asked after a pause, looking at Sherlock. He wasn't sure where this was going, but he knew for a fact that Sherlock had some kind of scheme he was setting into motion. 

Sherlock shifted closer to John on the couch and soon their thighs were touching through the fabric of their trousers.

"I was thinking that we might try something." Sherlock said, the leather fabric of his leather gloved-fingers an odd sensation against John's jean-clad thigh. He tried hard to repress a shiver.

"I'd be happy to try something with you, Sherlock." John replied, watching Sherlock's hand rub slowly and methodically over his thigh.

"You will tell me to stop if you feel it is uncomfortable?" Sherlock asked with such sudden intensity that John blinked.

"Yeah, of course I will, Sherlock." John assured gently. "I trust you, but I know my limits." He wasn't sure what Sherlock thought he wouldn't like, but he knew that Sherlock had good intentions.

Sherlock slid his hand up John's thigh and continued up his chest until he could take John's jaw into his hand. He simply held him there for a moment, looking over John's expression, studying his face. 

Sherlock then turned John's face to the left, then after a beat he turned it to the right. John remained silent and pliable to Sherlock, watching the detective with a curious expression.

"You are quite beautiful." Sherlock said after a time. "I know beauty is merely a social construct, but it matters to you, yes?"

John gave the tiniest of nods. He felt a little embarrassed that he thought beauty was important, but he couldn't lie to Sherlock. Sherlock always knew when he was lying anyway.

"It's alright." Sherlock said, and his voice was much softer than usual. Fonder. 

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. Many people base their worth solely on what others think of them." He soothed, and the grip on John's chin relaxed and he slipped his hand into John's hair.

John wondered then, briefly, where this was going. Of course, he understood the endgame, but now? What on earth was Sherlock doing? 

John felt like an insect, pinned down for study by something far greater than himself. But he also knew that he didn't mind it. Which was probably not normal.

"John. Relax." Sherlock's voice broke him out of his thoughts. 

"I am relaxed." John assured him, even giving a little smile.

"You're not relaxed. You're thinking." Sherlock chastised as his stroked John's hair gently. John rolled his eyes before closing them and leaning into the hand. 

Sherlock shook his head a little and brought his hand down John's neck. He then followed the path of John's arm until his hand finally landed on John's hip.

John glanced at Sherlock's hand before closing his eyes again. He wondered how rude it might be to ask Sherlock what exactly he was doing.

"Memorizing you." Sherlock answered the unasked question. 

John almost asked how Sherlock knew what he was thinking, but he decided to let it be. Sherlock would always be Sherlock, after all.

After quite a bit more studying, Sherlock finally began to fullfil the ultimate purpose of this little interaction with John.

He slipped his hand under John's jumper and shirt, running his hand over the bare skin of John's torso.

John shivered as the cold leather ran over his skin. The touch was soft, but the sensation was a tad odd. It wasn't necessarily bad, it was merely... Different.

Sherlock trailed his fingers up and down John's chest, rubbing at each of his nipples experimentally. He noted John's reactions to different kinds of touches, and to being touched in different places.

He then finally dragged his hand downward, skilled fingers landing on John's belt. Sherlock made quick work of all the fastenings on John's trousers so he could then start the main component of the experiment.

John reached to grip Sherlock's shoulder desperately when he felt a gloved hand wrap around his cock.

Sherlock smirked softly and slowly began to stroke John. 

"Sh-Sherlock. Faster, please." John breathed, nearly begging.

Sherlock made note of that before he began to stroke John a tad faster. He experimented a bit, trying different pressures and speeds to see what drew out the best reaction from John.

When he finally found the best mix of both, Sherlock pushed John's trousers and pants down properly.

Once they resettled, Sherlock was absolutely relentless. He stroked John without pause, sometimes meeting his eyes and smirking.

John gave little gasps and moans, nearly trying to pull Sherlock in for a kiss.

Sherlock chuckled as he ducked to avoid the kiss, but he didn't stop stroking John.

John was practically whimpering as he approached his climax. He hadn't done anything since that time with Sherlock in the alley, and that was too bloody long ago.

"C-close." John breathed out, trying hard not to thrust into Sherlock's hand. It didn't quite work out.

Sherlock was quick to adapt and stroked John in time with his thrusts. He was completely aching for some sort of attention, but he had to focus on John's needs first.

John's breath hitched and for a moment he didn't breathe at all. Then then let out a breathy moan and came over Sherlock's glove and his own stomach.

Sherlock stroked John through his orgasm, and as soon as the doctor was done he tugged his own throbbing erection out of his trousers. He stroked himself quickly, John's release making his slightly-soiled glove slide more easily over his cock.

John tried to gather his thoughts enough to figure out how to be useful to Sherlock, but his eyes were transfixed on the detective.

In no time at all Sherlock was coming over his glove with a half-bitten back moan. He took a moment to get his breath back before he pulled off his glove gingerly and looked over John.

He looked quite undone, and Sherlock had to admit that he loved the sight. "I will be right back." He assured, standing up. He tucked himself back in and straightened his wrinkled clothes before he crossed the room to the kitchen.

He wet a flannel with warm water before returning to John and gently wiping him down. Once they were both clean, Sherlock wrapped John in a blanket and then settled to wrap his arms around John.

"Next time I was thinking latex gloves. Perhaps you could wear a pair as well?" Sherlock suggested, rubbing John's arm lightly through the fabric of the blanket.

John gave an enthusiastic nod, leaning to Sherlock's touch. "Please."


	4. Phenomenal

Things had been extremely slow around 221 B, and Sherlock was starting to reach that point in his boredom where he would do absolutely anything to help alleviate his so-called suffering.

That always worried John. He never knew what to expect from Sherlock during those times, but he wanted to prevent whatever he could of Sherlock's riskier antics.

That's why today John walked up to Sherlock and dropped in the detective's lap an entire box of latex gloves.

"We're doing this today." John said, and his tone left little room for argument.

Sherlock rose his eyebrows, looking from the box to John. "Right now?" He questioned.

"If you're ready, then yes. Or I can give you some time if you're not." John said, folding his arms over his chest.

Sherlock stood up, handing John the box. "Now is fine." He nodded for John to follow, and walked to his bedroom. He pulled on his dressing gown and shut the door once John was inside. 

He rummaged around in his dresser for a moment before he found a pair of socks. He pulled those on as well before looking over himself. "Minimizing the amount of exposed skin to lower the risk." He explained.

"I understand." John said with a soft chuckle. "I'm not completely daft." He said, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. 

Sherlock smirked. "I know that, John. I wouldn't be here with you otherwise." He assured, pulling on his own pair of gloves.

"Ah, so you like me for my massive intelligence, do you?" John teased, tentatively reaching to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed for a moment. What he wouldn't give to be able to feel that all the time. "Oh, you wish you had massive intelligence." He scoffed, opening his eyes as a smirk curled his lips upward.

"Definitely not." John said, carefully tracing the curve of Sherlock's bottom lip with his thumb.

Sherlock's lips parted and his tongue flicked out to circle the tip of John's thumb. The latex tasted a bit odd, but it was worth it for the look on John's face.

John pulled his thumb away after being shocked into silence for a pause. He then carefully began to undress Sherlock, methodically working through every button on his shirt as well as the one on his trousers.

He undid the zip of Sherlock's trousers and ran a hand down the middle of Sherlock's exposed torso, even following down to his happy trail.

Sherlock watched as John's fingers traced the hair down to the hem of his pants. He gave a full body shiver and looked at John. "I've never been touched this much by someone else." He admitted, reaching to touch John's arm.

John stilled his hand, looking to Sherlock's face. "Do you want me to stop? Should I go slower?" He asked, brow furrowing in worry.

Sherlock shook his head quickly. Of course he didn't want John to stop. He never wanted John to stop. "No. No, just... Keep doing what you were doing. I'm sorry."

John leaned closer to Sherlock as he resumed mapping out Sherlock's torso. "What are you sorry for?" He asked gently.

Sherlock closed his eyes. "For being different, I suppose." He murmured. "Makes things more difficult, does it not?" He asked, opening his eyes.

John frowned and slid his hand up Sherlock's torso in order to cup his cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way, you understand me?" He said firmly.

Sherlock gave a half nod, eyes fixed on John's. "I understand, John." He breathed.

John smiled and let his hands wander back down to the hem of Sherlock's trousers. He undid the zip and then gently pushed Sherlock's pants and trousers down just past his knees.

Sherlock pushed aside the feeling of foolishness that came with his trousers down around his legs, and looked at John's expression.

John looked rather focused as he took a hold of Sherlock's cock. He slowly began to stroke it, looking up to meet Sherlock's eyes. 

Sherlock met John's gaze easily and smiled. "You really don't have to focus like that." He remarked, clearly amused.

"I'm trying to make sure I don't try to touch you, arsehole." John grumbled, stroking Sherlock at a slightly faster pace.

Sherlock let his head fall back and gave a soft moan. "You could touch my arsehole, if you'd prefer." He said, a smirk becoming prominent on his lips.

John licked his lips. "Really?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. 

Sherlock nodded. "I trust you." He breathed.

"I know you do, but we can wait for that..." John said softly.

Sherlock nodded, studying John. "Yes. Alright. Another time, then." He gave a little smile and reached to caress John's cheek.

John leaned into the touch before he swatted Sherlock's hand away. "Enough of that. We're trying to do something here."

Sherlock laughed and shook his head. "I feel that this fits into the same category as what we are trying to do, but by all means, go on."

John rolled his eyes and resumed stroking Sherlock. He ran his spare hand over Sherlock's torso, rubbing lightly over each of Sherlock's nipples in turn.

Sherlock gave a shuddering moan, closing his eyes. "John." He breathed, head falling back and exposing his far too long neck.

God, how John wanted to kiss the skin there. He focused instead on Sherlock's cock, stroking a bit faster.

"C-close, John." Sherlock breathed, reaching to grasp John's arm.

John continued to work Sherlock's cock, swiping his thumb across the head a few times.

Sherlock's grip on John's arm tightened as he gasped out moan, coming over John's hand. 

John took Sherlock's hand with his clean one and pressed a few kisses to his knuckles while the man came down. He pulled of the soiled glove and set it on the bedside table, quickly replacing it with a clean one.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, giving John's arm a squeeze before letting go. He opened his eyes and fixed them on John. He pulled his trousers and pants back up, tucking himself in and buttoning up his shirt before he smirked at the doctor.

John watched Sherlock put himself back together, and it was somehow enchanting to watch. He went from completely undone to perfectly put together in an instant, and he was definitely more composed than John was. 

Sherlock looked over John with a little smirk, reaching to cup him through his trousers. He rubbed him like that for a moment before he undid John's trousers slowly. 

John was already an utter mess and easily became putty in Sherlock's hands. When the glove came into contact with his cock, John couldn't help but moan.

Sherlock took John into his hand and began to stroke at nearly the perfect speed. He had committed to memory how John liked it best the last time they'd had their little sexual encounter, and he needed now adjusted the pressure and speed according to John's reaction.

John was finished far sooner than he'd like to admit. Sherlock was quite good, though John was pretty sure the detective viewed his pleasure as a sort of experiment.

"How was that?" Sherlock asked, licking the semen off of his glove as he looked at John.

"It was..." John was rather entranced, watching Sherlock taste him in such a way, so it took a measure for him to think of a proper reply. 

"You are-" He corrected himself. "Phenomenal."


End file.
